The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(9)

“A bear attack. We weren’t sure at first.” His voice trails off for a moment. “We get several encounters a year and on average one fatality.” He points to me. “Scientists account for almost half of them. A close second are self-professed grizzly experts. Juniper appears to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“We found a partial paw print and what appears to be bear fur in some of the wounds. An expert from Fish and Wildlife confirmed the wounds are consistent with a bear mauling.”

“A bear.” I let it sink in. Doing research in Montana and Wyoming, you’re constantly on the watch for them. I keep a can of bear spray in my pack whenever I set foot in their territory. I’ve seen hundreds of them. Even grizzlies. I give them a wide berth, and they’ve always reciprocated.

I’d never done any field research with Juniper, so I have no idea how well trained she was. But she never struck me as a stupid girl.

Even still, bear attacks are so exceedingly rare. Which is surprising when you realize how closely we come in contact with them when we’re out in the woods.

Put a wildlife camera in your campsite overnight and you’ll be surprised and possibly frightened by the amount of nature that comes strolling and slithering through.

You can find a hungry bear within earshot of a highway where electric Teslas whiz by under automated control and kids sit in back of RVs obliviously watching Star Wars on a big-screen TV as microwave popcorn pops.

Nature is there, even if you don’t recognize it.

“Two days ago a hiker called in to report that he’d heard the sound of a woman screaming not too far from where we eventually found Juniper. He said he and his friends went to investigate but couldn’t see anything.”

Glenn lets out a small sigh. “Easy to understand out there. I once stood on the bumper of a Cadillac that had been covered by mud and brush, looking for that self-same car. I got hell for that one.”

I’m not one to talk. I tell myself it’s because of my intense focus. “Do you have any idea why she was out here? Not doing bear research, I hope.”

He flips through his notepad. “Insular biogeographical analogs?”

“Islands,” I reply. “She was looking for islands.”

“Islands? Up here?”

“That’s what I call them. Generally speaking, they’re ecosystems that are isolated from the outside. In the case of islands, it’s the ocean that separates them. In a desert you might find an oasis. Or even in a dense jungle, you might find caves with isolated life.

“Remember how I mentioned animals filling different parts of an ecosystem? Even tadpoles becoming apex predators? It sounds like Juniper was looking for pocket ecosystems that are more self-contained than they appear from the outside.

“You can find them in unusual places. Caves, like I said, or on the side of cliffs. You can even find them in man-made environments like a cruise ship or the top of a building. Their degree of isolation varies. But the more remote they are, the more likely a few species are to adapt to fit all the roles you see in a larger system.” I realize I’m droning on again.

“Keep going.”

“Well, from a bioinformatics point of view, it gets really interesting when you don’t limit yourself to traditional taxonomies. Sociologists see emergent structures in everything from prisons to computers playing poker.”

I see a connection between Juniper’s research and what I taught and feel a twinge of guilt. “I used to tell my students that computer models are informative, but they can only tell us so much about external systems. We have to compare and contrast. You have to go outside. You have to explore the unexplored . . .”

Detective Glenn notices my hands. I tend to flex them and squeeze them when I’m stressed. Right now my fingers are going white from the lack of blood.

“Are you okay, Dr. Cray?”

I shake my head. “No. I just remembered a conversation I had with June . . . Juniper. She asked me for advice.” It becomes more vivid. We were at the pizza place near campus with a group of other students. She’d slid into the bench next to me. She had bright brown eyes.

She flicked her hair back and gave me a small grin. “So, Professor Theo, what advice would you give an aspiring scientist?” She’d propped her elbow on the top of the bench. I’d slid back to give her a little more room. This got me another smirk from her.

I recall being very afraid of coming across as one of the lecherous professors who corner young coeds like desperate wolves, then act surprised when they’re told that their field has a long way to go toward being more hospitable to women.

Her body language was lost on me. It might have been flirty in the way that some girls learn is likely to get them a response from males who might otherwise dismiss them. I don’t know. All I saw was the question.

I gave her a heartfelt response. She pulled back from my space only to prop her head on her hand, elbow on the table, and listen intently.

I thought she was humoring me as I went on. I know now that she wasn’t. She took every word very seriously.

Those words, my words, got her killed.





CHAPTER EIGHT


FRONTIERS

From Pliny the Elder, who died rushing ashore to Pompeii after Mount Vesuvius erupted, to modern times, being a scientist can be dangerous. Expert pathogen seekers have lost their lives trying to combat diseases. We’ve lost astronauts in reentry and ocean explorers to the depths of the sea.